


Drop the (Dead) Beat

by asinglesheepisashoop (booli)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Band Fic, Battle of the Bands, F/M, Finrod's just having a crisis, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Hot Sauron Rights, I have a hc that Beren's a comedy king, Luthien's got the only brain cell in the band, Pretty much teens being teens, Sauron's a dick but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26025670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booli/pseuds/asinglesheepisashoop
Summary: Finrod, Beren, Lúthien, Fingon and Maglor have signed up for their high school's annual Battle of the Bands. The only problem is that they're also going up against Mairon and his perpetually emo band, to whom they've lost the last two competitions. Third time’s the charm though, right?Besides, Finrod's got another, rather important bone to pick with Mairon.
Relationships: Amarië/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Amarië/Sauron | Mairon, Beren Erchamion/Lúthien Tinúviel
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Drop the (Dead) Beat

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came from someone referring to the sing-off between Finrod and Sauron at Tol-in-Gaurhoth as Middle-earth's Battle of the Bands somewhere, and I couldn't stop giggling at the thought.
> 
> Upon re-reading the Silm, I remembered just how much I loved Finrod. Best of elves and best of friends. That, and I desperately wanted to write something that made me feel better after t h a t roller coaster of emotions. Shoutout to my friend who read this even though they have literally no idea about the Silmarillion or any of the characters in it (except Sauron), I love you man. This fic's also inspired by and loosely based off of the Nickelodeon movie Battle of the Bands.
> 
> (I pretty much listened to Foo Fighters' Long Road to Ruin and Fago.Sepia's Dix-Neuf nonstop while writing this)
> 
> This is my first fic on here and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

“I mean I’m sorry for you, but on the plus side it could have gone worse,” Maglor says, sympathetically patting Finrod’s arm from where he’s single-handedly occupied the entirety of the man-cave’s couch munching on his cousin’s stash of thin mints.

Now Finrod considers himself a pretty chill guy, but he’s never felt so down in the dumps in his seventeen long years of existence. The only thing that comes close to making him feel like that was losing to that blasted snob Mairon and his band Dark Night Brigade for two straight years in the Battle of the Bands.

Speaking of Mairon-

“I just don’t get what Amarië would see in him you know? All he does is flip his hair, fake a posh accent – I bet you he doesn’t even know half the words he uses – and kiss his own ass more than anyone else, and that’s all it takes?!” Finrod mutters, face becoming one with the floor where he’s been lying for the last thirty minutes.

“Maybe if you did more than just pine in secret and awkwardly smile at her in the hallways at school, she might have gotten the message. Take it from me,” Beren pipes up, an arm wrapped around Lúthien, “And I kind of see his appeal. He’s the only one I’ve met that can pull off red box dye without looking like a total tool.” _Easy for him to say_ , Finrod thinks, _when he doesn’t have to deal with the horrifying consequences of having his crush go on a couple of dates with Emo Central_. He briefly considers kicking Beren out of the band, but he’s got to cut his losses.

“Whatever. We’ll show them our temerity at Bands.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Fingon snickers from where he’s been absent-mindedly plucking at his bass strings.

“It doesn’t matter, it sounds cool. My point being, we’re going to wipe the floor with them a few weeks from now. Up! All of you. We’ve got work to do.” Finrod decides with an air of finality. They’re winning Bands to save whatever’s left of their – his – dignity.

Somewhere between being the unfortunate victim to his younger siblings’ constant terrorising and trying to keep his head above the water at school, Finrod discovered his relative talent for singing and playing the guitar. So it came as no surprise when he had the bright and original idea every fifteen-year old with an instrument and a basement had: starting a band. The only problem was finding people that would agree to meeting up regularly, without fail, in said basement - his precious man-cave.

He didn’t have to search for long though. A single conversation with his dad earned him an amused chuckle and a few suggestions. Two phone calls later, he’d managed to rope his uncles into offering their sons up as members. To their credit though, Fingon and Maglor were pretty good as a bassist and lead guitarist respectively and it was a done deal. They were only missing a drummer but Finrod’s neighbour from across the street and general partner-in-crime Beren had them covered.

The thing was - Beren had, over that summer, somehow convinced the neighbourhood sweetheart Lúthien Tinúviel that he was not a total dweeb and they’d been attached at the hip ever since. So when she decided to announce her presence at their practices too, Finrod wouldn’t lie, he was quite indignant at first (what part of _man_ -cave did Lúthien not get?). However, his parents had raised him to be a courteous gentleman that didn’t kick anyone out of their house. Plus she proved to be a sick keyboardist and Finrod was nothing if not an opportunist. And he had to admit, she was so much cooler than them.

It was the five of them against the world. The Beleriand Strippers.

It was also generally agreed upon to never let Beren name anything after that.

The name stuck though and they ended up signing up for that year’s Battle of the Bands. Receiving prize money was a good enough incentive for a couple of broke teenagers, and after all the practices, fervent song writing on Finrod’s part, and Maglor’s older brother Maedhros dropping by every now and then under the pretext of being their manager (he supported them sometimes, laughed at them most times), they were sure to win.

Right?

They still cringe at their baseless confidence.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious that in a competition mostly dependent on audience vote, most of whom were teenage girls, being hot also helped.

“Who even needs a flutist in a damn metal band? All Ungoliant does is aggressively play trills but everyone loves her because she’s dark and mysterious,” Finrod complains at lunch the following week, as he pushes the pile of goop parading as his food around his tray, “It’s just the same two notes over and over.”

Across the table Maglor sighs, “This again? I thought we’d agreed to never bring them up.”

“I don’t know man, maybe our band’s image needs an upgrade. It could be profitable,” Fingon suggests, inhaling his sandwich like he’s never seen one before. Beren grunts his assent from where he’s hunched over his tray.

“Firstly, that’s disgusting Fingon, stop,” Lúthien says, slapping at his wrists, “And secondly, we’re not doing any of that. Look we’ll be just fine practicing what we’ve got till now, let’s not do anything drastic only three weeks before Bands. It’s going to mess everything up.”

Finrod looks at Lúthien with gratitude, “It’s nice to know Tin Man’s on my side at least-”

“Please stop calling me that.”

“-and she’s right. Besides, I don’t want any of us to suffer through looking like we’ve just had our goth awakening like the rest of those Dark Night Brigadiers,” he finishes.

“Bold words for a bunch of schlemiels who’ve lost to us for two years in a row,” a voice behind Finrod chimes. His mood instantly sours as he turns back. _Of all the clichés in the world it had to be this one_ , he thinks, looking up at Mairon’s smug-albeit-handsome face.

His eyes travel to where Mairon’s arm is casually wrapped around-

Yeah, it’s Amarië. He forces out a smile that makes him look more constipated than pleasant, but it’s the least of his worries right now. He mentally sends his thanks to whoever’s up there playing his life like a sad game of Episode.

“Well, third time’s the charm, right Mairon?” he grits out.

Mairon laughs snootily, “If that’s what they’re telling you in your self-help books then sure, Finnegan,” he shrugs and begins to walk to where the rest of the band were already seated at their table. Finrod has half a mind to correct him, then thinks the better of it.

Instead, before he can regret anything, Finrod calls out, “Hey Amarië? You’ll be there, won’t you?”

She looks confused as she turns to answer him, “I mean, yeah? They’re playing right?” She gestures vaguely to the Brigade’s table.

Finrod feels rather stupid as he agrees with her statement. A couple of moments later when he’s sure the two of them have turned around, he sticks his tongue out at Mairon’s back. Just for good measure.

Fingon huffs, “I wish he knew that it cost literally nothing to do us all a favour and shut up.”

“Also, real mature of you,” Maglor raises his brow at Finrod, who’s alarmingly beginning to resemble a beet.

“Oh, _can it_ Saint Maglor. I’m doing what I can to cope.”

The five of them have a solid game plan.

At least Finrod thinks they do, until Beren takes it upon himself to personally shit on his latest song.

The five of them no longer have a solid game plan.

Finrod feels a little affronted; it had taken him a whole day to come up with those lines!

“No offence Fin, but what even are these lines: _‘If I were a celestial being, baby I’d be a black hole; even when you hurt me you know I’d follow you from the North to the South Pole’_?” Beren snorts and throws the sheets Finrod had handed him to the ground, “You sound like you’re either a stalker or you’re in running to be the frontman for Dark Night Brigade, and neither of those options sound relatively appealing.”

It hurts his pride but Finrod has to agree. He’s been in a bit of a writer’s block these days and seeing Amarië with Mairon hasn’t helped his case.

Maedhros is also at the man-cave tonight because college sophomores apparently have nothing better to do on a Friday night than slumming it with rock star wannabes. The six of them sit on the floor in a circle discussing the current state of The Beleriand Strippers. They talk about songs they could do covers of, but none of them are too fond of the idea; they pride themselves on coming up with originals. News of another band entering the fray floats around too. It’s Eöl and a couple of his equally odd friends with a penchant for progressive alien deathcore among other things - Gore Lobotomy they call themselves. The six of them deftly avoid the imagery _that_ brings up.

Maedhros then comes up with a suggestion, “You could always perform what you guys sang last year. Work on the verses that are a little clunky and you’d have a perfectly decent song to sing at Bands.”

They all look at each other, and because they’ve got no better option, they agree.

“That’s not a bad idea Mae,” Fingon looks approvingly at his cousin.

Maedhros nods sagely as he agrees, “Of course it isn’t. I’m your manager after all, and a great one too,” ignoring the _self-appointed_ Maglor pointedly shoots in his direction.

Finrod’s not entirely happy with the situation at hand, but beggars can’t be choosers. He wishes he could be better for the rest of the band. It isn’t fair to them when they constantly make it to practices even if they complain his ears off. They’re his best friends and it _would_ be nice to win the competition together once before graduating.

Before he makes the impulsive decision to bury himself in a hole in the front yard, he catches Lúthien’s eye from across the room. And from the way she’s surveying him, he’s pretty sure she can read him like an open textbook.

 _Wanna talk about it?_ she mouths at him. He nods.

They’re done for the night and everyone shuffles out of the house one by one until it’s just Finrod and Lúthien left.

“You look like you’ve sucked on a lemon. What’s wrong?” she asks.

Since she clearly isn’t wasting time beating around the bush, Finrod decides to come clean.

“I don’t really know what it is. It isn’t even a matter of feeling upset about losing in Bands, that isn’t so bad in itself; it’s losing to Mairon and his posse and then have them rub it in our faces that’s so grating. And then there’s more pent up frustration from not taking my chances and asking Amarië out when I could have. Someone may as well print a giant L and stick it on my forehead.

“I guess I’m just annoyed that I spent half my time not doing things I could have and I spent the other half half-assing the rest. And now it feels like there’s not enough time, and I’m left scrambling for more,” he pauses, “If that makes sense?”

Lúthien looks at him thoughtfully for a while and eventually says, “I wish you’d spent the energy you’d used in constructing that sentence on getting your head out of your ass instead.”

And Finrod must look as bewildered as he feels because she laughs at him and continues, “What I mean is: Finrod, you’re _fine_. I know you feel like you’ve not done enough for the band or that you’ve let us down somehow, but the truth is, we love doing this.

“The four of us didn’t continue with the band only for the sake of winning at Bands. Sure, that may have been the motive at first, but then we continued because we love playing together with you, we love singing the songs you write _even_ when the lyrics are slightly questionable. We continued because somewhere between the scrapped songs and the tedious practices, we all became best friends, and that began to matter to us more than some stupid competition.

“As nice as it is to win, it’s okay even if we don’t. At least we get to perform together, right?”

Finrod opens his mouth to interject, but Lúthien holds up a finger, “Wait I’m not done yet. As for the situation with Amarië, it sucks and you can’t really change it now, but I hope the next time an opportunity comes your way, you take it instead of letting an uppity punk with box dyed hair steal it from you.”

The two of them sit in silence as Finrod lets her words sink in. He looks at her with thinly-veiled wonder, “You know, I always thought you were the coolest among us?”

Lúthien smiles at him softly and says, “Well one of us had to hard carry the band on that front and it wasn’t going to be any of you four nerds.”

“You’re the best Tin Man.”

Finrod yelps as Lúthien smacks him upside the head.

**_ BEAST BAND TINGZ _ **

**_finbroad:_ ** _yo any of you up? (03:24)_

**_swaglor:_ ** _whaddaya want dude it’s like ass o’clock (03:37)_

**_finger:_ ** _mags ur literally up too (03:39)_

**_finbroad:_ ** _ok cool so like emergency practice at my  
place 8 pm tomorrow. i think i’ve got the  
song we could use for bands. (03:45)_

****

**_BEARen:_ ** _tats kul, c u tere (04:03)_

 **_BEARen:_ ** _dkkrne3w2 (04:03)_

 **_BEARen:_ ** _sry drped m fon on m face (04:04)_

**_finger:_ ** _don’t worry we couldn’t tell the difference (04:10)_

**_tinootviel:_ ** _Couldn’t you have had your epiphany at a  
more normal hour **@finbroad**? (08:30)_

“This song of yours had better be good if you’re dragging us to practice on a perfectly good Saturday evening,” Fingon declares as he storms into Finrod’s house, Maglor in tow. Beren and Lúthien follow a few moments later, with a little more decorum.

Finrod looks at them with excitement, “I swear it couldn’t wait. I got the inspiration for it immediately after you guys left.”

“And I don’t suppose it had anything to do with our conversation?” Lúthien asks.

“Oh it definitely did, although I think you’ll find that the song’s not exactly what you’d expect it to be.”

Fingon, Beren and Maglor look between the two of them with curiosity, “What conversation?” Maglor asks.

“Just Finrod having a mini-mental breakdown which was a long time coming, is all,” Lúthien chuckles.

The other three eye them suspiciously, but say nothing. Finrod hands them a set of crumpled sheets with hastily written words scrawled on either side.

As they all crowd around the sheets, their eyes begin to widen as they take in the words; first in surprise, then in utter amusement. Beren laughs, “This is definitely better than the sad poetry you’d written before, that’s for sure.”

“I didn’t think he had it in him – that’s a rather bold statement Fin,” Fingon giggles. Even Maglor’s failing to bite back a smile.

“So what do you think of it?”

The boys happily nod their approval.

“You know, I thought you’d write a cute rock song about friendship or something. Not this,” Lúthien lets out a long-suffering sigh, scans the lyrics once more, then looks up and smirks at four pairs of expectant gazes trained on her.

“But I’m in it if you all are.”

As the days pass quickly, they also begin to cross paths with Dark Night Brigade more often than not at school and for the most part, they like to pretend the other band doesn’t exist, but Mairon’s groupies are nothing if not a minefield of microaggressions.

“Hey Fishing Rod, heard you’ve got nothing for Bands. Though I fancy it’d be good even if you did,” Thuringwethil cackles in her annoying rooster voice.

Or the time Gothmog nearly squares up with Fingon at lunch because he _thinks_ he’s looking at him funny (Fingon definitely was, but nobody has to know).

Finrod tries to ignore them, but makes it a point to smile kindly at Amarië every time. To her credit, she begins to look increasingly exasperated at the Brigade’s antics, which Finrod feels on a spiritual level. 

The Strippers themselves double down and start practicing their gig in preparation for the competition which was now less than a week away. Maedhros tries to stop by whenever he can. He doesn’t remain upset about them not taking his advice for too long when he hears the new song and agrees to make it to the competition.

Everything’s going so well.

Finrod may have spoken a bit too soon.

Two nights before Bands, he finds himself wide awake, tossing and turning at one in the morning. He’s tried everything – counting sheep, counting backwards from 1000, listening to carefully curated rain sounds on his playlist aptly titled ‘ _even the monster under ur bed is begging you 2 sleep_ ’ – but nothing seems to be working. He sits up on his bed and seeing as to how he’s not going to be getting some shut-eye anytime soon, he decides it would be a nice time to walk to the nearest park.

He shoots a quick text to Maglor, letting him know he could take his position as frontman if he were to die (as he slips out, Maglor replies with a very concerned _???)_.

He makes his way to the park, enjoying the peace on the streets. As he enters, he sees a rather familiar figure seated on the swing set looking up at the starry night.

Finrod is pretty sure he’s tired enough to be hallucinating, but he tries calling out anyway.

“Amarië, is that you?”

The figure looks towards him and sure enough, it’s Amarië. She recognises him and beckons him over. His heart’s doing a little tap dance in his chest as he takes the swing beside her and starts-

“What are you doing here-?”

“How come you’re up so late-?” They both ask at the same time.

Finrod feels a bit like the Spiderman meme. Amarië gestures for him to continue.

“What are you doing at the park?” he asks, “Does anyone know you’re here? Mairon?”

“I could use a little sneaking out now and then without having to alert my parents about it. Besides, I haven’t wandered more than a block away from my place. As for Mairon,” Amarië pauses, “I don’t think I’d fancy telling my ex my whereabouts.

“What’s keeping you up though?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and I wasn’t doing myself a favour by staying in bed,” Finrod trails off. Amarië hums at that and the both of them settle into a bit of an awkward silence.

Finrod’s at a loss for what to do. Nobody’s told him how to go about a situation like this. Sure, he knows how to deal with his younger sister’s problems when she’s had them, he’s a good brother like that, but that’s the thing – she was ten. Realising that neither Lúthien nor his mom were going to materialise out of thin air to help him out, he decides to bite the bullet and just ask.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he ventures.

Amarië looks at him with an unreadable expression in her eyes. She exhales sharply through her nostrils and finally says, “Honestly, there’s nothing to really talk about. I just realised that I was pretty much third wheeling Mairon and his ego. He’s the kind of guy to check himself out on every reflective surface while on a date and I called it quits before it got worse.”

Finrod nods along sympathetically. He could see exactly what she meant. He feels sorry that was how it had ended though and tells her as much. Amarië laughs it off and tells him not to worry about it. They talk about small mindless things, like their shared struggles with Mr. Thingol who always looks like someone’s spat in his drink, Amarië’s love for everything Math and Finrod’s begrudging admittance of Eöl’s aptitude for really weird genres of music (what even _is_ unblack metal?). Before long, she’s getting up to leave and as she’s saying goodbye, Finrod thinks he has one more question to ask.

“Hey Amarië, I completely get if you don’t want to, but will you still be there at Bands? It would be cool to see you around.”

She considers it briefly, then smiles and says, “Yeah, it sounds like fun. Besides, your band is playing right? I’ll cheer you guys on.”

Finrod hopes the darkness of the night covers the red rising in his cheeks as he nods eagerly, not trusting his voice to not betray him.

“Well then, I’ve got to get going. It’s nearly-” she glances down at her wristwatch, “-three, dear God. I’ll see you around Finrod!” With a last wave she turns around and is soon out of sight.

Finrod doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry so he settles for pleasantly disbelieving. He isn’t sure if it was all a dream and he pinches himself. _Definitely not a dream_ , he thinks to himself as he hisses at the pain. Before he can scream into the night like an overenthusiastic barn owl with the memory of everything that just happened, he makes his way home. If he skips on the walk back then that’s nobody’s business except his.

As he settles under his covers, he sends Maglor another text telling him his time to be frontman hadn’t come yet and he’s going to have to wait his turn.

(Before he’s about to fall asleep, Maglor replies with an indignant _!!!_ )

D-Day finally rolls around and the band is as ready as they could ever be. They’ve all congregated in the man-cave for a pre-competition ritual, which is technically just them sitting around, aggressively drinking Capri Suns pretending it’s spiked punch for the placebo effect. However, this time Finrod finds himself surprisingly calmer than he thought he’d be considering the series of events of the past few weeks. Even Beren who usually gets the most anxious before an event only looks mildly sick as Lúthien sits by him and tries to talk him out of it.

A couple of minutes later, Maedhros, their ride for the day, lets them know he’s arrived and they begin to pack up their equipment and lug it upstairs. Normally they’d be embarrassed to hitch a ride in Maedhros and Maglor’s family’s minivan (the mere idea of having six other brothers completely exhausts Finrod), but it comes in handy when they’ve got to drive themselves and their instruments around.

They arrive at the venue, already teeming with people aimlessly wandering around before the competition starts. They wait backstage and Finrod, now beginning to feel quite restless, decides to take a walk. He walks past throngs of people, with no real destination, until he sees a face he knows all too well.

“Amarië! Over here,” he calls, waving his hand over his head.

Amarië looks around until she spots the source and walks towards him, waving back in response.

“You actually made it! I’m glad to see you,” Finrod breathes out.

“Of course I did. I told I would, didn’t I?”

Finrod takes her in as she gets closer and keeps staring even as she stops right in front of him. He knows he should probably be saying something and not act like a total creep by just staring at her but he just can’t _help_ it. Amarië looks so pretty in the afternoon sun; her eyes are shining and her hair positively glows like her own personal halo. Yes, maybe he’s a bit star-struck; no, he won’t stop waxing poetic about her.

He’s pretty sure he can hear Lúthien egging him on at the back of his mind to ‘seize the opportunity’ or whatever, and realises it’s now or never.

“Um, Amarië?” he begins hesitantly.

She looks up at him expectantly.

“Maybe it’s a little too soon right now, but I’ve liked you for the longest time – and I was wondering if you’d want to go out with me sometime in the future, whenever? Only if you want to, of course. No pressure haha. Ha,” he lets out in a rush, not daring to breathe. Finrod knows he’s pretty much word-vomited on her and he hopes she’s understood what he’s trying to say.

Amarië’s eyes get shinier – if that were even possible – and crinkle as she smiles at him, “You ask the oddest questions, Finrod.” Finrod’s hopes begin to deflate a little at that and he’s already calculating the costs of buying a flight ticket to the nearest country before she continues, “You’re going to have to give me some time, but I’ll take you up on your offer. On only one condition.”

Finrod perks up, “Yeah?”

“Let’s avoid reflective surfaces as much as we can. It still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Done,” he grins at her, “How does a house of mirrors sound for a first date idea?”

Amarië lets out a surprised laugh and punches his arm playfully. Finrod feels like he’s on cloud nine until a buzzing in his pocket brings him right back down to the ground. He remembers that he’s essentially left the band high and dry backstage with no explanation. He quickly excuses himself from Amarië with a promise to meet up later.

He rushes back to where the rest of the band is waiting and stutters out an apology.

“Are you alright dude? We were worried when you disappeared and didn’t return,” Beren asks, brows creased, “Maglor here kind of panicked and began muttering about how he wasn’t ready to be frontman just yet? Whatever that’s supposed to mean?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything to you all later.”

Maedhros slaps Finrod’s back and says, “Well since the lost sheep has finally returned, I’m going to go now or all the good seats will be taken. Watch out for me, I’ll be the one cheering the loudest,” he takes his leave with a good luck wish from his side.

The five of them all grin at him. Maedhros – bless his heart – is far from being a good manager, but he tries sometimes and they love him for it.

Finrod beckons the others closer and they huddle together. They whisper words of encouragement into the circle and at the end Finrod looks at them all.

“Whatever happens, let’s go out there and kick ass!”

They all cheer.

A smile creeps its way onto his face and doesn’t leave throughout the whole competition as band after band goes up to perform. It doesn’t leave even when Mairon and the rest of Dark Night Brigade roughly push past them when they’re called to perform.

(Finrod finds that he still wants to deck Mairon’s pretty boy face though – some things never change)

Finally, _finally_ – The Beleriand Strippers are announced for the evening and they make their way onto the stage. As they take their positions, Finrod looks through the crowd and spots Amarië and Maedhros among the sea of faces. He sees Dark Night Brigade somewhere in the front too. _Perfect_ , he thinks, _just where we wanted them anyway_.

He whirls around to face the band for one last check-in.

“Ready when you are Fin,” Fingon says. Finrod then gives Beren the go-ahead and faces the crowd once more. He grips the neck of his guitar tightly as he hears Beren count down from behind him.

He locks eyes with Mairon and beams as he sings the opening lines-

_Yeah, I’m bad, but I ain’t a bitch,  
Hey you, with the red hair! I wish you’d get off my diiiiiiiiiiiiiick!_

Finrod’s smile can only grow when he hears the first offended gasp.

(For what it’s worth, they’re not that upset when they lose first place _again_ to Gore Lobotomy this time)

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's interested, the positions in Dark Night Brigade are:  
> Mairon - leader, lead vocals, rhythm guitar  
> Gothmog - drums  
> Thuringwethil - bass  
> Ungoliant - (aggressive) flute
> 
> Also, progressive alien deathcore and unblack metal are somehow legitimate genres that exist.
> 
> (P.S. Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Have a great day and stay safe!)


End file.
